


shall i sleep within your bed

by ThankYouMerlin



Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat
Genre: Auguste (Captive Prince) Lives, Bodyswap, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-15
Updated: 2018-04-15
Packaged: 2019-04-23 02:58:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,333
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14323077
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThankYouMerlin/pseuds/ThankYouMerlin
Summary: “You will, of course, need to learn to behave properly while in my body,” Laurent said, offhandedly. His eyes moved slowly from Damen’s face to his torso and back again. “We can begin with your posture.”Damen straightened up in his seat. “My posture is fine. Perhaps we should begin with your attitude.”The smirk Laurent gave him looked out of place on Damen’s face. “Yes, I suppose we should. Tell me, how are you so insufferably pleasant all the time?”





	shall i sleep within your bed

**Author's Note:**

> here is the bodyswap au that no one asked for and that we've been working on since april of 2016!!!! 
> 
> for: ramona; i am so goddamn sorry

Damen wasn’t sure why the youngest prince of Vere hated him so much. He’d been summering with their family at Arles since the end of the war, a way of building trust between Vere and Akielos; there was no better way to prove the two nations allied than for Theomedes to send his heir to Arles to live for a few months out of the year. They’d been riding together and dining together for six summers now and still Laurent seemed to hate him. 

“Don’t mind him,” Auguste said when Damen brought it up as they strolled the grounds at Arles. “It can take him a while to warm up to people.” 

“It’s been six years, Auguste,” Damen said dryly. 

Auguste threw his head back and laughed. “That’s nothing, brother. I’m all but sure that Laurent could not stand the sight of me until he was thirteen.” 

Damen openly scoffed. “I’ve never seen someone admire someone so much. He would fall on his own sword for you.” 

Out of nowhere, Laurent appeared between them, elbow digging sharply into Damen’s ribs as he strode ahead at a fast pace. His expression made it clear that he had heard what they were saying. 

“Come now, little prince, don’t be mad,” Auguste called after his brother, failing to keep the humor out of his voice. 

“Don’t call me that,” sneered Laurent over his shoulder. He turned on his heel to face them, not a lace out of place on his ostentatious Veretian clothing. If not for the years of practice he now had, Damen would not have noticed the way Laurent was a bit flushed. “You can fall on your own sword for all that I care, brother. You, as well, Damianos.”

Auguste laughed outright at that, as if no one had ever been more entertaining than his younger brother. “Will you walk the rest of the garden with us?”

Laurent sighed, a practiced exasperation weighing the breath down. “All you ever speak of is battle strategies and the swordsmanship of the men. I have very little interest in either of those things.” 

“Perhaps you should take an interest,” Auguste said. He and Damen began walking again. Laurent fell between them easily, as if he had not just protested joining them. “It may be a skill you need should anything ever happen to me.” 

Laurent scoffed as though the idea were impossible. “Nothing will ever happen to you.” 

Auguste chuckled at his brother’s words but Damen could not bring himself to do the same. He heard the threat in Laurent’s words even if Auguste could not; _Nothing will ever happen to you because I will not let it,_ Laurent was saying. Damen could not tell if the hidden threat was specifically meant for him or if Laurent was challenging the whole of the world to try and take Auguste from him. 

“Don't look at me,” Damen said, tone light though he was sure to make eye contact with Laurent so that he would know Damen was serious. “We are allies now. I would never do anything to risk my luxurious summers in Vere.” 

“Some would say war can be just as luxurious as summers in Arles.” Laurent’s voice was cool as the three strolled together in the garden. 

“I have not yet fought in a war,” Damen said, rapidly losing his patience with the younger prince, “but I know that any man who believes that is a fool. War is not a luxury.” 

Auguste’s laughter broke through the increasing tension between Damen and Laurent, abruptly reminding Damen of his presence. “Brother, cousin, stop your squabbling. We are on the same side now, there is no need for talk of war. Vere and Akielos are friends.” 

“For now,” Laurent said, sunlight glinting off of his hair, every inch of him the golden princeling the court whispered of when he was not around. 

Damen’s fists clenched unconsciously at his sides. He knew that Laurent was purposefully trying to goad him. It seemed to be a game of his -- pushing at Damen until he found the place where it hurt. He also knew that allowing Laurent to pressure him into a reaction never ended well; any reaction Damen gave just turned Laurent smug. Damen had long since stopped reacting, refusing to give Laurent the satisfaction of seeing him angry. 

“Leave him be, little prince,” Auguste said. “Play your games elsewhere and leave Damianos in peace.” 

Laurent smirked as they took their final turn in the garden, the doors to the palace in sight. “As you wish, brother.” Laurent lengthened his stride as they approached the doors, leaving Damen and Auguste to fall in step together once more. 

“You see?” Damen questioned, gesturing to Laurent’s back. 

Auguste just smiled. “If the two of you would stop baiting each other for a few moments, I think you’d find that you have much in common. You could be friends.” 

“I do not bait him,” Damen protested. “I have been trying for six years to befriend your brother. He has made it very clear that friendship is not what he wishes from me.” 

“No,” Auguste said, gaze roving over Damen for a moment where they paused in the doorway. “Perhaps it is not friendship he wishes.” He eyes come up to catch Damen’s again. “I’ll see you at the feast.” 

Damen nodded and the princes took leave of each other, Auguste in the direction of the royal quarters and Damen toward his own visitors chambers in the east wing of the palace where he stayed every year. 

Once there, two servants from his household undressed him, washed him, and fastened him into a clean chiton for that evening. 

Damen made his way back through the palace halls to the elaborate and lascivious banquet hall. He stepped into the brightly lit room, already full of courtiers, soldiers, and servants alike. There were banners hanging from the wall bearing the crests of the king, the crown prince, as well as Laurent’s own starburst. A servant approached Damen only a few steps inside of the door and handed him a goblet full of the dark wine Veretians favored. He eyed it, careful to keep the grimace from his face. 

“Does our wine not please the prince of Akielos?” said a familiar voice.

Damen turned and glanced meaningfully at Laurent’s own goblet, which was full. Laurent smirked when Damen met his gaze once more. 

“The wine in Akielos is less,” said Damen, “tart.” 

“It may be tart, but it certainly works,” Laurent said, inclining his head towards where Auguste was sitting at a table on a raised dais beside his father. Auguste was sprawled in the chair, goblet dangling loosely from his fingers as he smiled up at the daughter of one of the nobles. 

Damen laughed, taking a sip of his wine finally. “We have a drink in Akielos made by one of our general’s uncles. Many nights have been lost to the memory of men thanks to a cup of Griva.” Damen paused and then asked, “Do you not drink at all?” 

Auguste noticed Damen’s presence in the room then, sitting up straighter and gesturing for Damen to join him on the dais. 

“You’re being summoned,” Laurent said in lieu of answering. 

Auguste gestured again enthusiastically, pointing at both Damen and Laurent this time. 

“It appears you are being called as well,” said Damen. 

He could almost feel Laurent suppressing an eye roll as the two made their way through the crowd toward Auguste. 

“It’s about time, Damianos,” said Auguste when Damen and Laurent joined him at the long table. “I’m starved.” 

Damen laughed jovially as he took his seat beside Auguste. “It takes time to wrap a chiton correctly, cousin, you’ll forgive me.” 

Auguste laughed with flushed cheeks and turned back to his father, immediately engaging him in a debate over the merits of both Veretian and Akeilon clothing styles. Laurent silently took his own seat on Damen’s other side, a small polite smile that didn’t reach his eyes fastened to his face. 

“Do you not enjoy feasts?” Damen asked as food was set out before them. 

“I do not enjoy being made a spectacle,” Laurent said, nodding serenely at a fawning noble with whom he’d made eye contact. His smile didn’t waver, even as his gaze darted away from the crowd and to Damen. “I prefer to observe from behind the scenes, unlike some.” 

Damen paused with food halfway to his mouth. He thought, perhaps, that he and Laurent had been getting along for once, but the tone of Laurent’s voice implied otherwise. 

“Are you implying something, Your Highness?” Damen responded, careful to keep his voice neutral. 

Laurent did not even bother turning his head to look at Damen when he replied in a bored voice, “I do not think I need to imply anything. Someone who does not wish to be a spectacle does not go around with all of that skin on display, constantly swinging your sword around in boast of your talents. Not in the Veretian court, at least, though I admit I do not know much about the practices of the barbarians of your home court. I’m surprised my brother puts up with such brutish behavior. Perhaps he finds your simplicity entertaining.”

Damen was stunned into silence at his words, unused to such bluntness and cruelty, especially as a visiting prince in a foreign country.

“I may be a visitor here,” Damen said, voice gruff, “but I am still the crown prince of Akielos and I expect to be treated as such. I have never shown you disrespect, but it seems that that is all you are capable of showing me. Enjoy the feast.” 

Damen stood then, leaving his food all but untouched and his chair pushed back. He strode away from the table and into the banquet hall itself, seating himself beside the noble who had been staring at Laurent earlier. “Good evening, I trust there is enough food to go around.” 

The noble hastily gestured to a servant and soon Damen had a steaming plate in front of him, a full goblet within arm’s reach. 

As Damen drank and danced, he felt a gaze weighing on him, but he refused to give Laurent the satisfaction of turning around.

\- - - - 

Damen woke to late morning sun streaming in through the window. He sat up, feeling more well-rested than he had expected.

It was only then that Damen realized that the color of the bedclothes was wrong. He knew that he had a bit to drink the night before, but he had not thought it enough that he would stumble into the wrong room. 

He stood, the silk of the sheets smooth against his legs as he swung them free. Bleary eyed and uncoordinated after a night of revelry, he stumbled gracelessly when his feet hit the cold stone floor, feeling off balance. There was a wash basin on a table against the wall beside the bed with a looking glass above it. Damen made his way to it to splash water on his face. 

It was once he’d dried his face that he looked into the glass and saw. 

“What?” he murmured, confused, the shape of the Akielon word odd when said with this mouth. Damen closed his eyes tightly, but when he opened them again, nothing had changed. The face reflected back at him was not his own, but Laurent’s. 

Damen stumbled back from the wash basin, suddenly aware of all the ways in which this body moved differently. He looked down and his eyes were met with a long expanse of pale skin. Laurent’s body was clad in a simple shift and nothing else -- it was the most bare he had ever seen Laurent’s body, his fine ankles and wrists on full display. 

“Laurent,” the name dropped unconsciously from his lips. He had to find Laurent. Perhaps the strong Veretian wine, as tart as it had been, had caused Damen to lose his mind. Laurent would set him straight. 

Damen quickly changed into a pair of trousers, the fabric stiff where it clung to Laurent’s slimmer body. The laces on the jacket were complicated, more knots than anything else when Damen finished fumbling his way through them, Laurent’s more slender fingers tangling in the fabric. 

 

He crossed the room, stride shorter than he was used to, and pulled the door open. 

He had thought that nothing else could shock him the way his reflection in the glass had, but it seemed that he had been mistaken. Leaning against the corridor wall across from the door was himself. 

It was as if his brain has split into two halves, one half struggling to understand what he saw before him and the other dutifully cataloging everything in sight. 

His body was clad in a floor-length chiton, hair askew and eyes accented by the dark bags underneath them. His shoulders were held rigidly, tense even though Damen knew the fatigue his body must be feeling after how he had spent the previous night.

“I thought perhaps you’d never awaken,” he said, in unaccented and lilting Veretian. Hearing the sound of his own voice when he had not spoken caused him to startle. “If I had not been afraid of what they would have found, I would have sent the guards in to wake you hours ago.” 

“When I went to bed, there was no reason to think I would need to arise early this morning,” Damen said, Veretian settling on this tongue much better than Akielon had. 

“Not even to see your guest out?” Damen’s voice came again. 

Distantly, Damen registered the sight of himself blushing. He had always assumed that his dark skin hid his embarrassment, but the proof otherwise was before him, the apples of his cheeks stained with a slight flush. 

“My guests are often happy to sleep away the morning with me.” After a beat he asked, hesitantly, “You are Laurent, aren’t you?” 

He scoffed. “Well I am certainly not Prince Damianos.” Laurent strode past Damen and into his bedchamber, his own wide shoulders knocking Damen out of the way as he did so. He scowled. “I’ve no idea how you even fit through doorways, your shoulders are weapons all on their own.” The blush was still in place, and his voice was hard with repressed emotion. For all his angered posturing, Laurent was seemingly as perturbed by their situation as Damen was. 

“How is this happening?” Damen asked, shutting the door firmly behind them. 

Laurent did not turn to face him when he answered, voice tight, “I do not know.” 

“How do we fix it?” 

“I am sure asking inane questions is the solution, so by all means continue,” Laurent’s voice was snide. “I don’t know why you would assume that I know any more about this than you do.” 

Damen feels heat rise to his cheeks and spares a thought for how obvious his flush must be beneath Laurent’s pale skin. “You have been awake longer.” 

Laurent glared at Damen over his shoulder before gracelessly falling into a chair. He was not used to his new body yet either, Damen realized. 

“There must be some way to repair this,” Damen said, taking the chair across from Laurent. He could not stop staring at himself; at the way his body moved as he breathed, the way his eyelids flickered as Laurent thought. 

“If there is, I don’t know of it,” Laurent answered, “and until such a solution can be found, we will need to fulfill each other’s roles perfectly so that no one else becomes aware of the situation.” 

“What?” Damen burst out. He did not know what he had expected Laurent to say, but it had not been that. “Play at being one another?” 

 

“Do you have a more reasonable plan?” Laurent demanded. “It does not appear that either of us knows of an immediate way to reverse this and telling anyone else would surely get us sent to the physician’s chambers, so for now we must pretend as if nothing has changed.” 

Damen’s head was pounding. He wondered if Laurent was prone to headaches or if this was a special circumstance. “Perhaps it would be best if we kept our public appearances to a minimum.”

Laurent nodded, lost in thought. “I agree. There are a few events I am required to see to, but there are others that can be moved or ignored.” 

“I have nothing but the solstice banquet and my leave banquet,” Damen said. “And my daily turns in the garden with Auguste. He will probably want one last hunt before I leave for the season, but you are always invited along for that.” 

“You will, of course, need to learn to behave properly while in my body,” Laurent said, offhandedly. His eyes moved slowly from Damen’s face to his torso and back again. “We can begin with your posture.” 

Damen straightened up in his seat. “My posture is fine. Perhaps we should begin with your attitude.” 

The smirk Laurent gave him looked out of place on Damen’s face. “Yes, I suppose we should. Tell me, how are you so insufferably pleasant all the time?” 

Damen fought the urge to knock his head against the table. He should have known that Laurent would remain infuriating no matter what body he inhabited. “Maybe we should begin with some rules. Things that will have us immediately found out or routines we want the other to respect.” 

Laurent, in Damen’s skin, flushed. His voice was steady and cold when he said, “I would prefer that you allow servants to dress, undress, and bathe you. It is what they are accustomed to.” 

“I do not have a preference in that regard but if you would feel more comfortable having a servant attend to you, I do travel with some.” 

“I believe that would be,” Laurent hesitated, “best.” 

Damen nodded. He smiled and said, “You will have to get used to wearing shorter chitons. No one would believe me to wear one so…” 

“Modest?” 

“Formal,” Damen finished. “It looks as if you are about to be married.” 

Laurent inclined his head in acknowledgement before continuing. “When with my brother, please refrain from speaking about personal matters and matters of state. Our conversations are meant to be private and I do not want you to intrude upon them” 

“That will leave us nothing to talk about,” Damen protested. “He will be suspicious if I insist on silence whenever we are together.” 

“Bring up Heleen, she’s the daughter of a noblewoman whom Auguste has a keen interest in. He can speak of her for ages, you’ll be wishing for silence,” Laurent said with a roll of his eyes. His words belayed a certain amount of boredom, but it was betrayed by the fond look that crossed his features. “She’s a nice woman, I think she suits Auguste well.” 

“I would prefer that you avoid discussions of state with Auguste as well, but I doubt they will come up. Your conversations with him will be a test of your knowledge of tactical formations and weaponry.” 

“I think I will be fine in that regard,” Laurent said, his smile knowing. 

Damen leaned across the table. “He may also ask you to spar, which should be avoided for obvious reasons.” 

“And what reasons are those?” Laurent’s tone was that of amusement. 

Damen sat back again. “I usually win.” 

“I will try to avoid sparring Auguste,” Laurent said, his eyes never leaving Damen’s, “as to spare your reputation.” 

“Your brother would not forgive me if I allowed you to get injured by his sword, even if it is my body that will receive the blows.” 

“If I am forbidden from sparring with Auguste, you are not to speak to my father. Akielos may be a friend of the crown now, but the tides are always changing, and I would not have you be privy to information that may benefit your country unfairly should anything happen.” 

“Why do you always assume I am going to betray Vere?” Damen asked suddenly. “Our countries are allies, yes, but Auguste and I have always been more like brothers. I would not allow my people to wage war against my brother.” 

“As his true brother, it is my job to protect Auguste,” Laurent said, voice harsh. “It is my job to seek out danger in places he does not think to look.” 

“Let me assure you then that I shall not try to assassinate your brother while wearing your face.” 

Damen could tell by the look on Laurent’s face that this was exactly what he feared. Perhaps he even suspected that Damen had been the one to switch their forms, so that he could instigate a coup. 

“Laurent,” Damen said, tone sincere. “I love your brother and I would never do anything to harm him, in my body or yours. Never. You have my word.” 

Laurent studied Damen for a moment, his usual calculating look without its edge; softened by Damen’s gentler brown eyes. “If nothing else, Prince Damianos, you have proven yourself to be a man of your word.” 

There came a knock on the door. Damen saw an echo of the panic he felt in Laurent’s eyes, before it was smoothly glossed over. 

“This is your chamber,” Laurent reminded him, “you need to answer the door.” 

Damen stood and went to the door. Opening it, he found Auguste on the other side. 

“Ah, my little prince!” Auguste exclaimed. “Your guard said you had slept in this morning, but I did not believe it. ‘Sleep in?’ I said to them. ‘My brother? Never!’” 

Damen opened the door wider, allowing Auguste entrance into the room. “And Damen! The guard said you arrived for Laurent early this morning. I had thought your drinking headache would keep you in your rooms longer.” 

“The wine in Vere is nothing like the wine of Akielos, cousin,” Laurent answered in Damen’s voice, his demeanor eerily similar to Damen’s own. “It was like drinking water.” 

Auguste laughed. “Very well. Perhaps that means you are up to sparring with me this afternoon?” 

Behind Auguste’s back, Damen caught Laurent’s eye. He shook his head firmly, relieved that they had already spoken about this. 

“I would never pass up the chance to knock you onto your back,” Laurent answered. Damen felt his jaw fall open. 

“Is that such a good idea, Damen?” He said, voice strained. “You were just telling me about how tired you were from last night’s merriment.” 

“And what merriment it was!” Auguste exclaimed turning to look at Damen. “Not that you could tell from the sour expression on _your_ face.” 

“That was my fault,” Laurent said, pulling Auguste’s focus back to him. Damen resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “I said something that upset Laurent. It was why I was so eager to see him this morning.” 

Damen bit his tongue to keep himself from responding. 

“Well it is nice to see the two of you getting along finally,” Auguste said. “Perhaps you’d like to come down and watch the sparring match, Laurent? You know Damen is an exceptionally skilled fighter, second only to one!” 

“I hope you’re not speaking of yourself, Auguste,” Laurent said with a laugh. Damen could hardly believe his eyes; Laurent was flawless in inhabiting Damen’s body and mannerisms. “Should I remind you of our score?” 

“Oh, who is keeping score,” Auguste waved Laurent off, turning once more to Damen. “I came to see if you’d like to continue discussing the tax levies we were speaking of day before last.” 

“Come now, Auguste,” Laurent interjected before Damen could respond. “It is the day after a feast, let us all get some rest from the affairs of state.” 

Auguste looped an arm over Damen’s shoulders, something he could not do to Damen’s usual form. “Laurent never shies away from discussion tax levies. If I didn’t know better, I would say providing tax breaks to the poor is all he cares about in this world.”

“I also care about the armory inventory,” Damen said, eyes not leaving Laurent’s.

“That you do,” Auguste laughed. “But fine. The visiting prince can have you a bit longer, brother. If only because I fear taking you away now would destroy any friendship you’ve managed to find this morning.” 

With that, Auguste took his leave, promising to send someone for Damen when he was ready for their match. 

As soon as the door closed, Damen turned on Laurent. It was in this moment that he most noted the absence of his height, his wide shoulders. He felt something like a child playing at being intimidating. 

“I told you not to spar with him!” 

“Because you think I will lose,” Laurent answered back, voice bored. 

“You _will_ lose,” Damen said. “Your brother is a skilled warrior. Most of my wins are pure luck.” 

“Then perhaps I will have to spar with you afterwards. See if we can’t bring about a change in your luck.” Laurent stood at that. “I have some affairs to see to. I will see you at the sparring ring later today.” 

“Laurent, we have to talk about how we are going to reverse this,” Damen said, fighting the urge to bodily block Laurent from leaving. 

“I doubt we will come up with a solution sitting in my chambers,” Laurent scoffed. “I plan to spend the rest of my morning in the royal library. The kingdom will be shocked when they discover that the barbarian prince can read. Perhaps you could pay a visit to Pascal, our physician. He may have some answers for us.” 

Damen felt his headache blossoming again. 

“Oh, and Damen?” Laurent said from the doorway. “I have many interests beyond taxes and the armory.” 

Before Damen could figure out what Laurent meant, the door was closed and Laurent was gone.

\- - - - 

Damen arrived early to the practice ring that he and Auguste used when they sparred. Auguste was swinging a broadsword around, loosening up. Laurent was standing off to the side, watching with his arms crossed over his chest.

“You look quite assured of yourself,” Damen called out to him. “Perhaps you should be preparing.”

“I am more than prepared,” Laurent answered, giving Damen a smirk. Damen felt his blood run hot in his veins. Damn his reputation, he could not wait to see Auguste knock Laurent onto his back. 

A few other soldiers -- Veretian and Akielon alike -- were along the walls of the ring. He and Auguste often encouraged their men to come and watch their matches as a learning exercise. 

Jord, one of Laurent’s men, came out to call the match. 

From the first swing, Damen lost hope that they would be able to keep up appearance. Laurent might have looked like Damen, but they moved very differently; they carried their swords contrarily, stepped in a different opening pattern. Damen felt himself leaning forward, drawn into the match as the brothers tested each other for weaknesses. 

Laurent caught Damen’s eye from the ring for just a second, only long enough to silently reprimand Damen; Laurent would never be so outwardly eager to watch the two princes fight. Damen leaned back against the wall. He tried to remember what Laurent looked like when he deemed Damen’s matches with Auguste worthy of attending. He arranged his face to impassivity and crossed his arms across his chest. This was more like Laurent. Laurent’s fighting as Damen, however, continue to risk their exposure. 

By now, the match had turned uglier. A ferocity had emerged in both brothers, different from the sense of competition that usually emerged between Damen and Auguste. Auguste had nicked Laurent on the bicep of his weak side. Damen watched blood trickle down Laurent’s arm with a perverse sort of satisfaction; he had warned Laurent that Auguste was a better swordsman than he. 

Auguste surged forward, Laurent stepping back carefully as he narrowly avoided Auguste’s blows. Damen kept his face neutral even as excitement grew within as the match came to a head. 

It was just as Damen thought the match would be called for Auguste that Laurent made his move. He snuck under a particularly brutal swing and slammed the hilt of his sword into Auguste’s ribs. Auguste stumbled, unable to recover his footing before Laurent was bearing down on him. 

Laurent pushed in close, sword crossed with Auguste’s. Damen blinked and almost missed Laurent kick a leg out and sweep Auguste’s legs out from underneath him. Suddenly, Auguste was flat on his back in the dirt, Laurent’s sword at his throat. 

The room was silent, tense as the two fighters glared at each other. Finally, Auguste broke the silence with a hearty laugh, tossing his sword to the side and letting his head drop all the way back in the dirt, body relaxing. 

“A good fight, cousin,” Auguste said, reaching up a hand for Laurent to pull him to his feet. “Have you been secretly training with my brother? He’s bested me more than once with that last move.” 

Damen doesn’t hear Laurent’s answer, distracted by Jord coming over to speak with him. 

“It looks as if the barbarian prince may have learned a move or two from you,” said Jord, bemused. 

“He fights… quite differently than I remember from last summer,” responded Damen, keeping his voice level. 

Jord made a thoughtful noise. “Knowing Akielons, he’s probably spent most of his time since his last visit training, though I doubt he has been quite as dedicated as you have been.” 

Damen looked away from Jord so that he would not see the surprise on his face. He knew that Laurent was schooled in swordplay, it would have been remiss of King Aleron to leave either of his sons untrained, even if one of them was the second-born, but he had not realized just how seriously Laurent had taken his studies. 

Damen raised his eyes and caught Laurent’s gaze. Laurent inclined his head slightly and then turned around and strode out, not bothering to check and see if Damen was following him. 

“Perhaps that was a bit…..ill advised,” said Laurent when the two of them were walking side by side towards the guest chambers. Damen knew it was the nearest thing to an apology that he would receive.

“I told you not to challenge your brother,” said Damen, unable to keep the smug tone out of his voice. 

“You told me not to challenge Auguste because you thought I would lose,” said Laurent. The guards outside of his rooms bowed and opened the doors for the two of them to pass through. “Not because you thought the difference in our fighting styles would give us away.” 

“I think I will take the point for this one regardless,” said Damen, sitting down at the table while Laurent put away his sword and disappeared into the bedroom to wash and change. 

“You didn’t expect me to best him, did you?” Laurent’s voice came from the other room. 

“You’re a very skilled swordsman,” said Damen. He waited until Laurent came into the room to smirk and say, “for a second son.” 

“I am a skilled swordsman regardless,” Laurent said, easily brushing off Damen’s insult. He came to sit across from Damen at the table. “It may be worth revisiting our earlier discussion about filling in each other’s role.” 

“It may be worth _listening_ to each other about how to fulfill our roles,” said Damen, smiling to let Laurent know that he is joking. He straightened up in his chair. “We will have to spend most of our days together. That will be the fastest way for us to become acquainted with each other’s… quirks.” 

“Don’t you think that will draw more attention to us?” asked Laurent, his sneer out of place on Damen’s face. “It is not as if we’re known for enjoying each other’s company.”

“One of us has been attempting to find common ground for six years,” said Damen coolly. Perhaps he was getting more into his role as Laurent already. 

“A truce, then,” said Laurent. “My brother will be pleased.”

\- - - - 

The next morning, Damen woke to Laurent sitting in front of the fire in his antechamber.

“How long have you been here?” asked Damen, coming to stand close to the fire. It was early yet and the stone floors were cold against his bare feet. 

“A short while,” Laurent said, not looking up from the papers he had in front of him. “If you’re going to be successful in playing at me, you’ll need to start rising earlier.” 

“You’ll have to learn to lie in,” responded Damen, voice still thick with sleep. 

The corners of Laurent’s mouth twitched. “While you’ve been sleeping the day away, I’ve been researching our predicament, so far to no avail. We’ll spend our morning in the library, take a turn about the gardens with Auguste at midday, and spend the earlier part of our evening in the training ring. I would prefer it if my body was kept in good form, and I assume you feel similarly.”

“I suppose you don’t care to hear any plans I may have had for the day?” 

Laurent’s gaze settled on Damen for a second before returning to his papers. “You should dress.” 

Damen decided it was more effort than it was worth to argue with Laurent. He didn’t have anything particular planned; it would be easier to just Laurent dictate their plans. 

“Which of your multitudinous, overly-laced jackets should I wear today?” asked Damen as he retreated to the bedroom to get ready. “Should I call for a servant or would you prefer to dress me yourself?” 

“As amusing as it would be to try and lace one of my jackets with these giant paws you call hands,” said Laurent, “I don’t think it would be appropriate for the crown prince of Akileos to be seen dressing one of the sons of Vere.” 

Damen chuckled to himself as he unlaced the top of his nightshirt. “Call a servant for me, would you.” 

He was surprised when he heard the scrape of Laurent’s chair against the stone as he got up and went to the door. Only a moment later, there was a servant in front of Damen, eyes averted as they helped him out of what he’d slept in. 

“Shall we head to the library?” asked Damen, emerging from the bedroom tightly laced into a red and gold brocade jacket. The servant who had assisted him quietly slipped from the room. 

Laurent did not answer, but rolled the papers in his hand and stood. “I’ve taken the liberty of having breakfast laid out for us there. I assume you will find that satisfactory?” 

Damen nodded. “Are you feeding my body enough, Laurent? A body twice your size needs twice the food.” 

“The amount of food that this body needs is beyond belief. How Akielos has any rations left at all is a mystery.” 

Damen let out a sharp bark of laughter. “You really are quite funny, aren’t you? I’m sure me even making that observation irks you.” 

“I have been called many things, Prince Damianos, but funny has never been one of them,” said Laurent. 

“There’s a first time for everything,” answered Damen as he held open the door to the library. Laurent passed through. “Besides, whenever I laugh in this body, it makes it appear as if Prince Damianos is the humorous one.” 

Laurent dropped into one of the plush armchairs by the fireplace. The fire was lit, warming the library. There were three stacks of books balanced on the table in front of Laurent. Damen lowered himself into the armchair opposite; sinking deep into the chair even in this slighter body. 

Laurent reached for a book, pulling it into his lap. “We should begin.”

\- - - - 

“I cannot read another word,” said Damen, closing the book in front of him and pressing the heels of his hands to his eyes. “We have been at this for hours and we’re no closer to curing this than we were this morning.”

“If you’re going to playact as me, you should develop a fondness for reading,” said Laurent. “I do enjoy a good story.” 

Damen opened his eyes just in time to catch the end of Laurent’s smile. “You’re teasing.” 

Laurent closed the book in his hands and cleared his throat. “I believe you’re right, we’ve done enough research for today. Shall we see if Auguste would like a walk?” 

Damen smiled to himself even as Laurent stood and brushed past him to leave, a scowl firmly etched into his face. Damen stretched as he got out of the chair, muscles aching from sitting still for so long. 

He was surprised, to say the least, at how quickly his perception of Laurent was evolving now that they were beginning to know one another. Laurent was not the permanently cold second son that Damen had always believe him to be; he had moments of true personality. Damen found that he wanted to know more. 

He followed Laurent out of one the side doors of the palace into the gardens. Laurent signaled a servant. 

“Fetch the prince for me, won’t you?” 

Damen snickered as the servant hurried away. “I don’t speak like that.” 

“I’m not used to your… informal manner just yet,” said Laurent. “It will come, with practice, I am sure.” 

“Do you think we will be like this long enough for you to achieve that practice?” asked Damen, hesitant to hear Laurent’s answer. 

It did not come. Laurent’s lips thinned out on Damen’s face, his gaze turned toward the horizon. 

“What will happen if we cannot figure out how to return to our own bodies?” asked Damen. “I am scheduled to leave for Akielos soon, what then?” 

“We will find a solution,” said Laurent, voice tight. His tone grew distant, thoughtful, when he added, “For every problem there is at least one solution.” 

“Brother, cousin,” Auguste’s voice came. “When Joni told me you were both down here waiting for me I thought that it must be a trick. Imagine my surprise when he told me that you had also spent the morning in the library together, just the two of you. Are you finally getting along?” 

“I’ve developed a new… perspective on Prince Laurent in recent days,” said Laurent, a small, but smug, smile on his face, “so to speak.” 

“I’m glad for it,” said Auguste. 

“Yes, Prince Damianos has surprised me as well,” said Damen, catching Laurent’s gaze. “He has quite the sense of humor.” 

“I knew the two of you would get along if only you’d give each other the chance,” said Auguste, a beaming smile on his face. “Come, let us walk in the gardens and enjoy the day.” 

Laurent and Damen fell into step on either side of Auguste and the three headed into the gardens. 

“I’m glad I have you both here,” said Auguste. “It will spare me from repeating myself. I’ve talked with Father already and we want to announce it as quickly as possible. Heleen and I are to be wed.” 

“That’s wonderful news!” exclaimed Damen, raising his hand to clap Auguste on the shoulder. He pulled back when he realized that Laurent’s hand had already found its way there. 

“How exciting, cousin!” said Laurent, smile on his face wide and genuine. 

“Thank you both,” said Auguste, placing his hand over his heart, a Veretian show of sincerity. “Your approval means the world to me, especially yours, little prince. I’d hoped you’d be pleased, but this response is more than welcome. You seem entirely enthused about this marriage.” 

Out of the corner of his eye, Damen saw the smile on Laurent’s face falter just a bit. Damen smiled at Auguste, placing his own hand over his heart, and said, “I know how much she means to you. I am very happy for you, brother.” 

Auguste turned to look Damen in the eye. “Your words mean more to me than you could ever know.” 

Beyond Auguste, Damen noted a flash of emotion across Laurent’s face before he could disguise it with a smile once more. For a moment, Damen wondered if he had done the right thing, stepping so fully into Laurent’s shoes. This was meant to be a special moment between the brothers and, because of circumstances that neither of them could control, Damen got to share it with Auguste rather than Laurent. He wonders how he would feel if Laurent had gotten to share this moment with Kastor in his place.

Damen was shaken from his introspection by a cleared throat and swift movement. Auguste was already walking ahead, making his way through the garden and expounding upon Heleen’s incomparable beauty. 

Laurent cleared his throat, drawing Damen’s attention to him. He inclined his head towards Auguste and raised his eyebrows. 

“I fear you’ll grow insufferable about this more quickly than I had imagined,” said Damen, eyes focused on Laurent for a reaction. Laurent gave him a small nod even as Auguste laughed. 

“There is the brother I know and love,” said Auguste. He turned his attention to Laurent. “We are planning to be married next summer, shortly after your return to Arles. It will be quite the extravagant affair, judging by father’s reaction to the news.” 

“I’m sure it will be a festive time,” said Laurent. “My father will be pleased, it has been awhile since he got to attend a royal wedding.” 

“Ah, yes,” said Auguste, voice turning teasing. “His heir refuses to settle down and give the country a queen.” Damen saw Laurent’s brow furrow in confusion for a second before his face smoothed back over. Auguste turned to Damen once more. “You better be careful, brother. Now that I am spoken for, father will be seeking someone for you.” 

Laurent released a boisterous laugh. “I wish your father luck finding Laurent a suitor who is worthy of him.” 

Auguste was silent for a long moment, clearly taken aback by Laurent’s comment. His eyes were narrowed as he looked between Damen and Laurent. “I don’t know what happened in that library this morning, and I am beginning to think that I do not want to know, but I am grateful for whatever peace it has brought the two of you. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I promised Heleen we would dine together this afternoon.” 

Left alone with Laurent once again, Damen burst into laughter. 

“You find my brother’s betrothal that amusing?” asked Laurent snidely. 

“He thinks we will be next to announce an engagement,” said Damen through his laughter. “‘A suitor worthy of him’?” 

Laurent flushed a bit, swallowing. “I hadn’t thought of it that way.” 

“No,” said Damen, breathing finally returning to normal. “You thought only to embarrass me and inflate your own ego further. Thank you for the entertainment.” 

“We should go in,” Laurent said brusquely. “I’m famished. Does your body always require this much food to feel satisfied?” 

“There are plenty of other ways to satisfy my body,” answered Damen, waggling his eyebrows at Laurent. Their relationship felt lighter here, the fresh air of the gardens going to Damen’s head, perhaps. Their back and forth was easy now, Damen less afraid of provoking Laurent’s ire when he was in Laurent’s body. 

“You’re barbaric,” Laurent said, voice exaggeratedly scandalized. Damen smiled, though, at the detection of humor just underneath the surface of the words. 

“No, I am Prince Laurent of Vere,” said Damen, skipping up the steps ahead of Laurent, “As elegant and poised as they come.” 

Laurent just glared at Damen and brushed past him into the palace.

\- - - - 

After a harsh sparring session with Laurent in the ostentatious Veretian training ring, Damen retreated back to his chambers. He wasn’t used to the way this body fought; he could not employ a technique of brute strength when Laurent had a significant advantage over him in that regard while they were trapped as each other.

“Now you know how the rest of us feel,” Laurent had said when Damen voiced this feeling aloud in the ring. “You must learn to fight more with your head than your hands. What will you do if you come up against someone larger than yourself?” 

Musing, Damen entered his chambers; there was a steaming tub waiting for him in front of the fire. Laurent had ordered baths for both of them as they were leaving the arena. 

“You’ll thank me later,” Laurent had said in answer to Damen’s questioning look. 

There was a servant waiting to help Damen strip and step into the tub. 

“Do you require anything else, Sire?” the servant asked. 

“That will be all for now,” Damen said, already sinking deep into the warmth of the water. “I’ll call for you again when I am ready to dress.” 

Damen waited for the door to shut before letting out a deep groan. Laurent’s body did not fare as well with long training as Damen’s did; his entire body ached with the effort of fending off Laurent’s attacks. 

To say that these past two days were the strangest of Damen’s life did not do it justice. It wasn’t just that he was inhabiting Laurent’s body, but that the more time he spent with Laurent, the more he found himself drawn to the man. Laurent was… complicated; he was cold and calculating and often cruel. But he was also smart and kind; he was capable and dedicated, finding solutions in places no one had thought to look before. He was logical and thoughtful, sitting in the library with Damen for hours as they tried to find a cause for their predicament, working through and discarding any possible explanation. 

He was, Damen was reluctant to admit, someone whose company Damen was growing to enjoy. 

The door opened then without preamble, Laurent striding in, clean chiton clasped at his shoulder and his laurel headband held carelessly in one hand, a small bag in his other hand. 

“Get… _this_ off of my face,” he commanded, pointing at his chin, darkened with stubble. “I asked one of your servants to see to it, but he seemed more likely to slit my throat than clean it up.” 

Damen laughed at Laurent’s vexed expression. “Sit down for a moment, I haven’t finished with my bath.” 

“The banquet begins at sundown, how much longer are you going to stew in your own filth?” Laurent’s voice had lost some of the frustration it had carried when he’d come in. He sat down, placing the laurel down on the table with much more respect than when he had been holding them. 

“You were right,” Damen said, instead of addressing Laurent’s question. “I am thankful you had this bath drawn. Does your body always feel like this after sparring?” 

“No,” Laurent said, “it usually feels worse.” 

Damen laughed and pushed himself up with hands on either edge of the tub. Laurent averted his eyes. 

“It’s nothing you haven’t seen before,” Damen said. “It’s your body.” 

“It feels… different,” Laurent said, words slow as if he were searching for them. “It does not feel like it is my body when my mind is here in yours.” 

Damen wrapped a towel around his waist and thought about what Laurent said. “I believe I understand what you mean. I think of my face as your face and your face as my face. Though it is jarring to watch you sneer, I do not think my face was meant to look like that.” 

Laurent sneered at him as if to prove a point.

Damen let out a chuckle, going into the bedroom to fetch the basin and pitcher he used to wash his own face in the morning. “Did you bring the lather and shaving blade?” 

He set the bowl on the table, filling it with water from the pitcher. Laurent held out the bag he had brought in with him. Damen recognized it as his own travelling bag. He took it from Laurent, opening it to set the blade on the table beside the bowl. He wet his hands and covered them in the lather. 

“May I?” Damen asked. Laurent had obviously come here with a purpose, but this felt oddly… intimate. Something he needed Laurent to be sure of. 

Laurent raised his eyebrows. “Saying no would make my presence here quite foolish.” 

Damen let out a small, breathless chuckle. “I wanted to be sure you knew what you were doing. Allowing me so close to you with a blade. Perhaps my plan is working and I will finally have my chance to do away with you, assume my role as Laurent completely and destroy Vere from the inside.”

Laurent let out an undignified snort; he startled a bit at the noise, surprised at his own openness. “You’re much too vain to ever bring harm to your own body.” 

The surety with which Laurent said it drew a full belly laugh out of Damen; the tone of his laugh higher and less full than he was used to. 

“I suppose you will just have to trust in that,” Damen said. He reached out, spreading the white lather from his hands against the dark skin of his own face. “This is not so bad. Almost as if I’m using a looking glass.” 

Under Damen’s hands, Laurent squirmed. “I am… unsure of where to look while you are attending me.” 

“Close your eyes,” Damen advised. Laurent closed his eyes, but continued to shift where he sat. “Stop moving.” 

Laurent stilled, exhaling a deep breath as Damen picked up the blade and took Laurent’s chin in his hand. Damen let out a deep breath not unlike Laurent’s own; he was never this hesitant when shaving his own beard. It was different, though, because if he caught himself with the blade, he would not be the one to feel the pain. 

Focussing on keeping his hands steady, Damen pressed the edge of the blade to Laurent’s skin, moving it cleanly and methodically through the lather. He worked in silence, stopping every few strokes to rinse the blade in the bowl of water. He settled into the motion of it; press, glide, rinse, press, glide, rinse. 

“You can relax,” Laurent said, lips barely moving. “I won’t sentence you to death for a scrape.” 

“I… often find it difficult to be close to you,” Damen said, finding it easier to be honest when Laurent’s eyes were closed. “I am never sure how to behave around you.” 

Laurent hummed, inclining his head just slightly when Damen moved the blade away to rinse. “I suppose I haven’t made it easy for you over the years.”

Damen scoffed. “That is an understatement.” 

Laurent opened one eye to cast a judgemental glance at Damen. “It’s not as if I can be blamed. You were the prince of a nation I had grown up fearing. Akielos was the only nation with an army large enough to take on Vere’s. From birth, I’d never known you as anything except my enemy. It was a bit of an… adjustment to suddenly having you summering here with us as if all that had never happened.” 

Damen listened intently, muscle memory taking over his careful ministrations on Laurent’s face. “I never thought about it like that, though I did share a similar upbringing. I stayed up with advisers and tutors many a night learning strategy for if Vere ever decided to invade. I would dream of dueling your brother and winning, returning to Akielos a hero. Now, Auguste is more like a brother to me than my own most days. Even when I am back in Akielos, we write each other.” Damen hesitated, turning away to rinse the blade and avoid Laurent’s gaze, before he added, “Now, an attack on Vere would be as an attack on my own country.” 

The room was silent except for the low crackle of the fire so nothing disguised Laurent’s sharp breath in. He turned back to find Laurent’s eyes closed, face unreadable once more. Damen spares a passing thought for Laurent’s ability to turn his own face into a mystery. 

“I didn’t know you felt that way,” Laurent said after a few moments of weighted silence. Damen startled and nearly cut Laurent’s cheek. “Careful.” 

“You would know that I felt this way if you ever walked with Auguste and I in the garden,” Damen said. “Or went riding with us. Or sat with us after dinner. I’ve spent the last six years thinking that you hated me.” 

“And now?” 

Damen paused to think, blade only a few inches from Laurent’s skin. He’s nearly done; soon they’ll have to dress. He thought of the past two days, how different Laurent had been and not just because he was in Damen’s body. He’d been more open with Damen, more inclined to share his thoughts. Damen found, to his great surprise, that he was looking forward to sitting beside Laurent at this feast and talking about the nobles in attendance. Auguste had always spoken highly of Laurent’s knowledge of court gossip. 

“Now, I’m not sure what to think,” Damen said. “You’ve been different since we switched. I like it. I enjoy spending time with you.” 

Silence fell between them once more and Damen returned his full focus to the task at hand. With a soldier's efficiency, Damen finished shaving Laurent’s face. The silence between them was tense; Laurent’s body still rigid, giving nothing away. 

“I’ve finished,” Damen said, dropping the blade to the table. “You can rinse off with the water in the basin.” 

“You’re angry with me,” Laurent observed. 

“I’m not,” Damen answered too quickly. 

“You’re upset that I have not returned the sentiment,” Laurent continued as if Damen had not spoken. He looked up at Damen; Damen found himself trapped in Laurent’s shrewd gaze, the usual warmth in his brown eyes replaced with something more calculating. “You do not think that I feel the same.” 

“I do not care if you feel the same,” Damen said. He knew that he sounded immature; he was embarrassed, off balance from his admission. 

“You do,” Laurent said. “You have always cared, even when you thought I wanted nothing to do with you.” 

Damen didn’t answer. 

“The truth is, I have always envied you. When you are here, all Auguste wants is to spend time with you. When you are gone, all he does is wait for you to return. He speaks of you endlessly. He calls you brother when you are not there to correct him. For many years, I hated you more for that than for your crown. It is childish, but it is the truth.” 

“And now?” Damen asked, repeating Laurent’s own words back to him. 

“Now… I am unsure. I have enjoyed your company for the past two days as well. I spent most of last night imagining what the last six years would have been like if I had not been so jealous.” 

“I think, perhaps… we might have been friends. Brothers, even, the way that Auguste and I are.” 

“Brothers,” Laurent repeated. Damen detected something in his tone, but he could not identify it before it was gone. “Perhaps you are right. I am sorry that we will never know.” 

Damen found that he was sorry, too, but could not find a way to put it into words. He was sorry for the lost time, but he had done his best every summer; the bridge between them was there because Laurent built it, and had kept building it, no matter how badly Damen had tried to cross it. 

Clearing his throat, Laurent stood. “We should get dressed,” He headed for the door. “Thank you for… removing that grotesque thing from my face.” 

Damen chuckled. “Your jealousy is making another appearance. It has been two days and I haven’t seen even the hint of fuzz on your face.” 

Laurent scowled at him and pulled open the door. He spun around quite dramatically, only to end up chin-to-forehead with Auguste. Damen tilted his head, surprised at how much taller his body was than Auguste’s at this angle. He had never really felt their height difference so acutely before when he had inhabited his own body. 

“Cousin!” Laurent boomed in Damen’s Akielon accent. “Are you ready for the feast?” 

Auguste’s eyes were narrowed, gaze falling first on Laurent in Damen’s skin before coming to land on Damen. Damen fought to keep Laurent’s fair skin from flushing under the gaze; they hadn’t been doing anything wrong.

“I am, but I see that neither of you are dressed.” Auguste’s eyes returned to Laurent. “If you were on your way out, Prince Damianos, I wanted a word with my brother.” 

“Of course,” Laurent said. He nodded at Auguste before stepping past him. Over Auguste’s shoulder, he gave Damen a harsh look. Damen plastered a passive expression onto his face, squaring his shoulders even as Auguste closed the door and turned piercing blue eyes to Damen. 

“I should dress,” Damen said quickly. He turned his back on Auguste, hurrying to the wardrobe in the bedroom. 

“I’ll assist you,” Auguste said. He didn’t hesitate before following after Damen. “It will be just like old times when I used to help you switch out your jackets before Mother could see how badly you’d muddied them up.” 

Damen could not think of a reason to send Auguste away, so he held his tongue as as he pulled on the trousers and undershirt that had been laid out for him. 

Auguste moved then, to help Damen tie the laces at his wrists. “You have been spending quite a bit of time with Damen lately.” 

Damen almost corrected him before remembering that, for all intent and purposes, he was Laurent in this moment. He had a strong premonition that this conversation was going to be embarrassing for both him and Laurent, though at least Laurent had the gift of distance. 

“I have offered before and I’ll offer again,” Auguste said, eyes fixed firmly on the laces his fingers were working at. “Now that I am betrothed, Father will be looking for a match for you.”

“Damen?” Damen choked out, completely taken aback. 

Auguste looked up at him, eyebrows furrowed. “Why not Damen? He will be king one day, able to keep you in the lap of luxury and at the heart of matters of state. A marriage between the two of you will cement our alliance with Akielos. He’s quite handsome. You could do much worse than Damen, brother.” 

Damen remained silent, lost in thought. Auguste’s proposal was an… interesting one. If it had been suggested to Damen before he and Laurent had found themselves in this predicament, he would have laughed. Akielos was at peace, strong enough to not need additional alliances or partnerships, which granted Damen the luxury of marrying for love or, at the very least, pleasant companionship. His father had been encouraging him for a few years now to begin seeking out suitors. 

“It won’t do for you to take the throne alone,” his father always said. “My blood made me a king, your mother made me a _great_ king.” 

He had never stopped to consider Laurent. Laurent had never seemed interested in even the basest of relationships with Damen; betrothal seemed so far out of the realm of possibility that it never crossed his mind at all. 

Damen thought about it now. He thought of what he knew of Laurent; he had a sharp mind for politics and detecting deceit. He had a dry humor, a way of making Damen laugh without meaning to. Laurent was, objectively, an attractive man. 

He was not Damen right now, however. Auguste was presenting this idea to Laurent. Laurent, who, up until two days ago, wanted less than nothing to do with Damen. Their earlier conversation had shed light on Laurent’s motives, but it did not change the fact that they had spent the last six years completely at odds ; Laurent shunning all conversation with Damen and Damen too prideful to force Laurent into an unwilling friendship. Even if Damen could now see them as a good match, a fair match, it was impossible that Laurent agreed. 

“I don’t think Prince Damianos would agree to that arrangement,” Damen said. “The logical choice would be to marry an Akielon woman so that there is never a question of the heir’s loyalty.” A level-headed reason for why he and Laurent should not marry. 

Auguste waved his hand dismissively as he switched to the other wrist. “That has never mattered to Damen. His people love him, they will accept whomever he wishes to have beside him. Any heir the two of you raised would be loyal to Akielos because you would never allow anything contrary. Give it some thought, Laurent. You have until the end of the summer.” 

Damen was silent as Auguste laced him into the tight, brocade jacket that had been chosen for him for tonight. It was a fine blue with golden stitching; over the heart was an embroidered gold starburst, the symbol of the sons of Vere. 

“There, you are ready,” Auguste said, stepping back. “How about me? Do I look handsome?” 

Damen fought to keep from laughing and instead rolled his eyes. “I do not understand what Heleen sees in you. You would have been better off marrying a looking glass.” 

Auguste beamed and Damen allowed him a soft smile in return; he did not think that Laurent would mind.

\- - - - 

“What did my brother want?” Laurent said, stepping up to Damen’s side. “That’s not your chair.”

Damen flushed a bit at his mistake, moving quickly to take Laurent’s traditional seat beside Auguste. Laurent sat in the seat he had just abandoned. 

“He wanted to discuss your betrothal,” Damen said. He had warred with himself over whether or not to tell Laurent the truth about what he and Auguste had spoken about, finally settling on honesty. Laurent would find out the truth eventually. 

“What?” Laurent hissed, face twisting into an expression Damen had never seen before. Laurent quickly smoothed his brow out once more. “What did he say?” 

“He wanted to know if you would find me to be a suitable match,” Damen said. He had thought, too, of leaving that detail out; of letting Laurent think that Auguste had merely wanted to talk about his betrothal in a broad sense. He had opted, again, for the truth, reasoning that once they swapped back and Damen left, Auguste might approach Laurent with the proposal again. He did not want Laurent to be taken by surprise. 

“I assume you told him I would not,” Laurent said, voice cool. He sipped from his goblet, eyes looking out over the feasting crowd impassively. 

“Of course,” Damen assured him. 

“Of course,” Laurent repeated, voice pitched a bit higher than Damen’s usual baritone. 

“I didn’t,” Damen started. “Excuse me for being crass… I didn’t realize that you were interested in men.” 

Laurent’s mouth ticked up into a sneer, his eyes still focused somewhere across the room. “It has been six summers, Damianos.” 

“You have never shown affection for anyone while I’ve been visiting, regardless of gender.” 

“Haven’t I?” Laurent asked. It wasn’t a question that required an answer, Damen knew; it was just another of Laurent’s mysteries. Laurent flagged one of the servants down to refill his chalice. 

“You should slow down or you’ll wake up with a headache tomorrow,” Damen advised. 

“That will be preferable to how I woke up after the last feast,” Laurent said. “Trapped in your barbarian body with your clingy bedmate attempting to --” 

Laurent pressed his lips together into a very thin line. Damen studied him in the candlelight; noticed how even in a body that was not his own, Laurent managed to reflect so much of himself. It was only when Laurent leaned forward in his chair, closer to the light, that Damen realized he was flushed; the tips of his ears a dusky pink with a warmth traveling down his neck. 

“You’re embarrassed,” Damen observed. 

“Perhaps for you. Your… lover took many liberties.” 

“I encourage my partners to take liberties in my bed.” 

Laurent took a long swallow of his wine. Damen did not envy him the morning. 

“He’s here tonight,” Laurent said after several long moments during which Damen did not even touch his food. “Your… paramour.” 

Damen let out a laugh. “He is no such thing. Eager, perhaps, and a bit sloppy in his affections, but a good man.” 

“Why not offer him to Auguste for me, then?” Laurent said, turning to face Damen finally. “If you enjoyed him so much, why not seek out the same pleasure in my body?” 

“I’m not going to fuck in your body, Laurent,” Damen said, careful to keep his voice low. Auguste was caught up speaking with Heleen and her father, but he knew they still had to be cautious if they were to keep their secret. 

Laurent did not say anything, choosing instead to turn back to his meal. 

“Laurent…” 

“This not the time nor the place to discuss this,” Laurent said sharply. 

“Come to my chambers later,” Damen offered. “Or your chambers, I suppose.” 

Laurent cut into his meal with a vicious swipe. “I do not think us meeting in your chambers late at night will do anything to persuade my brother from his fanciful imaginings of our future together.” 

“I am sorry to have upset you,” Damen tried. 

“Enjoy the feast, Prince Laurent,” Laurent said, voice cold. He dropped his silver and rose from the table. Damen could only sit frozen as Laurent stalked to the same table of nobles Damen himself had retreated to at their last feast. Damen’s grip on his own silver tightened as he watched Laurent smile at the noble he had previously bedded. 

“Brother!” Auguste’s voice boomed, pulling Damen’s attention back to the head table. Auguste leaned in, voice lowering. “Has your truce with Damen ended already?” 

“Not ended, no,” Damen said. “Just… a truce from our truce.” 

Auguste let out a chuckle. “He is a good man, Laurent. He often does not see what is right in front of him, but he is a good man nonetheless.” 

“I know,” Damen replied. “Or, I have come to learn it.” 

“Good,” Auguste said, eyes drifting from Damen to where Laurent sat with the nobleman. Damen’s gaze followed. It appeared as if the drink had finally gotten the better of Laurent, his smile loose and easy, expression natural on Damen’s face. 

It is that, perhaps, that finally breaks Damen’s resolve. The nobleman, Damen is sure, has done nothing to earn Laurent’s affection. Damen has spent six years attempting to coax even the slightest of smiles from Laurent and now he sits beside this… stranger, giving him everything Damen has wished for himself. It does not matter to him what body Laurent is in, he is still the same man; cold, calculating, and selective with whom he shares his affections. This nobleman has done _nothing_. 

Damen stood abruptly. “Excuse me,” he murmured to Auguste, his gaze still fixed on where Laurent’s hand now rested on the nobleman’s shoulder. Damen could not even recall the man’s name as a rush of heat flooded through him. This man, so casually leaning into Laurent’s touch, not knowing how rare such a touch was; such a public display of intimacy from the Cast-Iron Bitch of Vere. 

Auguste said something in return but Damen did not hear it as he made his way from the head table to where Laurent was sitting, his tanned skin flushed just the slightest bit pink from the drink. 

“Prince Damianos,” Damen said when he reached them, voice curt. “If you have a moment.” 

Laurent turned his gaze to Damen, gaze growing noticeably icy as he said, “We are busy, Prince Laurent. Perhaps it could wait until morning.” 

Damen could barely hear his own response over the pounding of blood through his veins. “It cannot wait. It will only be a moment.” 

Laurent gazed at him for a moment, coolness replaced by a gleam of mischievousness. He looked back at the nobleman. “I will be back.” 

The nobleman returned Laurent’s look with heavy lidded eyes. “I will be waiting.” 

Damen waited while Laurent rose gracefully from the table. He resisted the urge to grab onto Laurent’s bicep and haul him to a private corner if only because he knew the hands of the body he currently inhabited could not make it all the way around the muscles of his own body.

As if he had read his mind, Laurent smirked and lead the way to a balcony off of the great room, the entrance of which was covered by a thick curtain to keep out the chill. With a wave of his hand, Damen dismissed the other revelers from the space. 

“You wished to speak with me, so speak,” Laurent said after a few moments of silence, voice tight. 

It was only then that Damen realized that he did not know what he intended to say, only that he wanted -- no _needed_ \-- to get Laurent away from that nobleman’s hungry gaze, his too familiar touch. 

“Damen,” Laurent snapped after another silence had fallen between them. “It is cold and I was enjoying myself. Speak.” 

“Do not give me orders,” Damen said, instinct superseding his confusion. 

Laurent smirked. “You are the second-born son of Vere, I outrank you. You will take orders from me.” 

“If you wish so badly to be of higher rank, why not take Auguste up on his offer. Marry me.” 

Silence fell again. Damen’s face heated as he realized what he had done. He had just proposed to the Prince of Vere. Or, perhaps, the Prince of Vere had just proposed to the future King of Akielos. Damen’s head swam; they needed to find a way to return to their bodies or he would go mad. 

“What did you just say?” Laurent asked, face carefully neutral. 

Damen ran a hand down his face, exhaling deeply. “I am not used to how little drink your body can withstand.” 

“Do not blame this on the wine, Damianos,” Laurent said, voice breaking over Damen’s name. “You just proposed.” 

“I did not,” Damen argued. “I simply provided you with a solution. You do not like being outranked, I have a way for you to ensure that does not happen again. You said yourself there is always at least one solution to every problem.” 

Yet another silence fell between them. Laurent looked away, turning his back to Damen to look out into the night. 

Damen kept his eyes affixed to the rigid line of Laurent’s back; his own back. 

Another deep breath of night passed before Damen finally forced himself to ask, “Is the idea so abhorrent?” 

 

For a long moment, they remained frozen there on the balcony, the muffled sounds of the feast the only noise between them. Laurent turned suddenly, arms braced on the balcony rail behind him. 

“No.” He seemed surprised by his own answer. “Perhaps _that_ is what I found so abhorrent. That even now, when you offer it to me in anger, I would accept.” 

Damen was stunned to silence. He could only stare at Laurent, who refused to meet his gaze; who even in Damen’s significantly larger form suddenly looked small and alone standing against a backdrop of night. 

“I did not know you felt that way,” Damen managed. “For six years -- Laurent, I never knew. I never…” 

“You were not meant to,” Laurent interrupted, eyes still fixed on the ground. “I have always known we were a good match. The true heir of Akielos and the secondborn son of Vere. Politically, we are a perfect set. For years I have tried to keep the distance between us, to stop what I knew would be inevitable, my… my _sale_ to Akielos as a barter for peace. I did not expect…” Laurent trailed off. 

“What?” Damen asked gently, as if soothing a spooked horse. “What did you not expect?” 

Laurent looked up sharply, eyes locked on Damen’s for the first time since they had left the feast. “I did not expect you.” 

Damen did not know how to respond. _Six years_. Six years Laurent had been plotting and planning to save himself from a role he did not want. He had pushed Damen away at every opportunity, making sure to make their disagreements public and obvious. He had withheld himself from the opportunity of friendship -- from more time spent with his brother -- all to protect himself from a political marriage. Only to find himself here, trapped in Damen’s body against a balcony railing on the night of his brother’s engagement; faced with the feelings he had developed just as unexpectedly as Damen’s own. Laurent’s expression was as raw as Damen had ever seen it.

“Laurent…” 

“There you are!” came Auguste’s boisterous voice, the curtain dropping closed behind him as he came onto the balcony. “I thought perhaps you had retired early.” 

“No,” Damen answered, caught off balance and stumbling back from Laurent a bit as Auguste made his way to his side and threw his arm across his shoulders heavily. Even as he took Auguste’s drunken weight, Damen kept his eyes trained on Laurent, who had swiftly turned his back to them. “We simply wanted some air.” 

“Why have air when you can have wine?” Auguste crowed. “Is that not right, Prince Damianos?” 

Laurent’s back went stiff, then was forced loose, his grin appearing easy when he turned back to face his brother. “Let’s rejoin the revelry then.” 

Auguste laughed and turned to go back inside, tugging Damen along with him. Damen tried to look over his shoulder at Laurent, but Auguste was too unsteady and too quick, the both of them on the other side of the curtain before Damen fully realized what was happening. Once inside, he retook his seat beside Auguste, tapping his goblet against the prince’s before downing its contents. 

He pretended not to see when Laurent finally made his way back to the nobleman’s side.

\- - - - 

Damen has only just managed to fall asleep when the creak of his chamber doors being opened rouses him. He pushes himself up onto his elbows enough to see his own shape outlined in the candlelight of the hall before the door is closed.

“Laurent?” he asked blearily. “What are you doing here?”

“Prince Damianos,” Laurent answered, pitching his voice even deeper than Damen’s usual tone. He chuckled to himself as he made his way to the edge of Damen’s bed, one large hand wrapping around the bedpost. “Oh, Prince Damianos, let me refill your chalice! Oh, Prince Damianos, you are so handsome and _tan_.” 

“Are you amusing yourself?” Damen asked. 

Laurent dropped his weight against the bedpost. “It was like that all evening! If I had known being so large made people want to offer themselves to you after only a few words, I would have insisted on growing another foot as a boy.”  
Damen laughed. The corners of Laurent’s mouth ticked up, pleased and shy, as he came to stand at the side of the bed. 

“I must look so fragile to you,” his voice contemplative. He reached for one of Damen’s hands, pressing their palms flat together. “You could crush my hand in yours.” 

“I would never,” Damen said earnestly. 

Laurent rolled his eyes, all traces of playfulness and sincerity gone. He pulled his hand away. “I know you wouldn’t, Damen.” Laurent nudged at Damen’s side with a knee. “Move.” 

“You’re supposed to be in my chambers.” Damen pointed out, but humored Laurent nonetheless. Laurent flopped onto the bed beside him. “What about keeping up the charade?” 

“Let them talk,” Laurent said, waving his hand in the air. His tone turned sour. “It’ll make our future engagement that much more believable. The second son of Vere leaves his brother in favor of a new king.”

“I am not asking you to leave Auguste behind in favor of me,” Damen said. “I know what he means to you.” 

Laurent sighed, closing his eyes. “My men used to talk about how much they enjoy drinking with you. Why is it that you seem to enjoy everyone else’s company, but never mine?” 

Damen felt himself tense at the words. He rolled onto his back, eyes fixed firmly on the curtains overhead. “If you’re going to be morose, do it in your own chambers.” 

“You’ve gotten better at playing at me,” Laurent noted, voice cold. 

“I’ve learned quite a bit in the past few days.” 

The silence settled between them like a chasm. Damen knew that he would have to be the first to reach across it if he did not want to lose what they had found with each other. This gentle, tumultuous footing of theirs. 

“I have learned that I do, in fact, enjoy your company. You don’t have to believe me, but I have even come to crave it. You’re not what I assumed either, Laurent. I knew you were smart, but you are also witty. You are patient with your men, willing to spend all afternoon on perfecting their swordplay. You are kind to those beneath your station. You are the most loyal man I have ever met, even if that loyalty causes your own suffering.”

For a moment, there was only the sound of their breathing. 

Finally, Laurent spoke. “You’ve learned all of that in just the past few days?” His breath in was audible. 

Damen smiled softly to himself. “Perhaps I am a quicker study than you give me credit for.” 

The sheets rustled. Damen turned his head and cracked open an eye to find that Laurent had rolled to look at him in the moonlight. It was odd, to have his own gaze focused so acutely on himself. Laurent seemed to be choosing his words carefully when he said, “Perhaps I am a slower one.” 

“If Auguste has his way, you’ll have a lifetime to learn about me,” Damen said. 

“We may need more than one,” Laurent said, voice soft. 

“You would agree, then?” Damen asked, breath caught in his throat. “If I asked your father for your hand that would be… desirable to you?” 

“It will be more desirable if we are ever returned to our own bodies.” Laurent’s smile was tentative. It grew as Damen let out a laugh. 

A more comfortable silence fell between them. Laurent’s breathing evened out and Damen found sleep calling to him as well. Just before he gave in, he remembered that Laurent had never answered his first question. 

“Laurent? Why did you come here tonight?” Damen asked. 

“I fear the truth will be much less sentimental than you want it to be,” Laurent answered. 

“I’d like to know anyways.” 

Laurent let out a heavy sigh, the moonlight striking him in such a way that Damen could see he had begun to blush. “That nobleman of yours… he was quite forward.” 

Damen waited for Laurent to continue. When he didn’t, Damen said, “He took liberties, I believe I remember you saying.” 

Laurent squirmed a bit, making Damen smile at his obvious discomfort. 

“He invited himself back to your chambers with me. He divested himself of his clothing and I excused myself to the hallway and came here. I couldn’t go back there. He’d… expect things of me.” 

“He’d expect things of _me_ , you mean? Afraid you won’t live up to his first experience with Prince Damianos?” Damen only raised an eyebrow in response to Laurent’s glare. 

Laurent scoffed. “I’m not sure how you would even keep up with a lover, your body seems so keen to finish before anything has truly begun.” 

Damen chuckled. “Most would be happy to find themselves with such a responsive lover. You see it as something to criticize.” 

“I see it as something to improve upon,” Laurent corrected him. “I find myself happiest with a lover who lasts.” 

“You mean when you are playing to your strengths,” Damen said. “I have yet to feel a single spark of arousal whilst in your body.” 

Laurent stared at him for a long moment, jaw moving as if he were debating on whether or not he would say what he was thinking. He rolled so that his back was to Damen and quiet settled over them once more. 

Damen had just laid down, swallowing his disappointment that Laurent had ended their game, when Laurent spoke once again. 

“In the past,” Laurent’s voice was taut. “When I’ve found myself in the position of requiring… haste, my nipples are a source of great pleasure.” 

Damen’s throat went dry at the picture Laurent had painted for him. Before he was capable of forming a response, Laurent began to gently snore. Damen sighed and turned on his side, anticipating a sleepless night.

\- - - - 

Damen was awoken by a loud bang as his chamber doors were opened wide. He groaned as he opened his eyes, only to be blinded by the morning sun streaming through the window. He could have _sworn_ he had not had that much to drink last night.

“Rise and shine, little prince,” Auguste announced himself loudly. “It’s a beautiful day for a ride!” 

It is only as Auguste’s footfalls draw closer to the bedchamber that the night previous flooded back into Damen’s mind. It was too late to disguise Laurent’s sleeping presence in the bed next to him; the doors to the bedchambers still open.

“Seems like last night was a good time for a ride as well,” Auguste said, crossing the threshold. He folded his arms and leveled a glare at Damen. “If you were anyone else, I would have a knife at your throat.” 

“If he were anyone else, I would let you,” Laurent grumbled, voice muffled into the pillow. 

“It’s not what you think,” Damen protested, holding up his hands in front of him. It’s then that he noticed the color and size of them; they were _his_ hands. He forgot, for a moment, that Auguste was still in the room. “Laurent. Laurent, wake up!” 

Laurent groaned, but pushed himself up to glare at Damen, the lines from the pillows imprinted on his face softening his glare. His eyes widened in realization and he quickly put a hand to his face, as if to ensure that he was returned as well. He breathed out a sigh of relief -- so small that if Damen had not been listening for it, he would have missed it -- and turned back to Auguste. 

“It appears, big brother, that you’ve finally gotten what you wanted,” Laurent said. 

“And what is it that I wanted?” Auguste asked, eyes alight with mirth. 

Laurent rolled his eyes and climbed out from under the sheets to dress, leaving Damen to answer. 

“A happy marriage for your brother and a stronger partnership with Akielos,” Damen said, careful to keep his gaze fixed on Auguste. “We spoke through the night about it and we’ve decided it’s a good match.” 

“You spoke through the night about it?” Auguste scoffed. “I always knew politics was a scintillating topic for my brother, but you, Damen? I thought you’d need a bit more than that.” 

“Damen wouldn’t have been able to do anything but talk after the amount he had to drink last night,” Laurent said, fastening his shirt and studiously looking anywhere but Damen. “He’s right. We’re a good match.” 

“Not just politically,” Damen said, a bit desperate to reclaim some of their intimacy from the night before; to ensure that he and Laurent agreed on this point in the light of day as well. 

Laurent met and held Damen’s gaze as he repeated, “Not _just_ politically.”

Damen could not stop the large grin that spread across his face. Laurent looked away, but Damen could see the way his neck had gone pink. 

“I hate being right,” Auguste groaned. “You two are going to be insufferable.” 

“Make yourself useful and go inform Father of your plans for me, would you?” Laurent said. “We’ll join you once Damen is dressed.” 

Auguste seemed only too happy to be the one to inform Aleron of the news, his pace a bit quicker than when he had come in. 

Laurent sighed as he held out a sleeve for Damen to tie the laces of. “He’s going to be the insufferable one, not us.” 

Damen pointedly did not disagree as he finished Laurent’s other sleeve. 

Laurent straightened his collar and gave Damen a broad grin. “Come along, betrothed, let’s go see if your room is your own again yet.” 

Damen groaned. He had a feeling Auguste and Laurent were _both_ going to be insufferable.

\- - - - 

“Your father didn’t seem very surprised to hear of our intent to marry,” Damen said as he and Laurent walked through the gardens.

“I’m sure Auguste has been whispering of this to him for years,” Laurent responded. “Perhaps now he’ll have peace from my brother’s schemes.”

“He seemed… pleased,” Damen said tentatively. King Aleron had seemed more than pleased; he’d ordered a letter be sent to Akielos with haste so they could make a formal announcement before Damen left at the end of the summer. Laurent was to join him in Akielos shortly after. 

Laurent glanced at Damen from the corner of his eye and smiled. “You needn’t be so smug about all of this.” 

“I’m not smug,” Damen protested. “Just… happy. Both to be back in my body and to be here with you.” 

He reached out and took Laurent’s hand in his own, gently interlacing their fingers. 

Laurent looked down at their joined hands and murmured, “You could crush my hand in yours.” 

“You could crush my heart in yours,” Damen said in return. Laurent turned an attractive shade of pink. Damen was going to spend the rest of his life saying things that brought color like this to Laurent’s face.

Laurent brought their clasped hands up, pressing his lips to the back of Damen’s. “I would never.”

**Author's Note:**

> http://www.thankyoumerlin.tumblr.com
> 
> http://www.excaliburss.tumblr.com


End file.
